


The Blessings of Dark Rituals

by EvoraBlake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:31:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvoraBlake/pseuds/EvoraBlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Hiatus* Dark magic is tricky but to Hermione Granger, if it allows her to go back in time and save her loved ones, the cost is most definitely worth it. But then, if she can go back a day, what's to stop her from going back years and changing even more? James Potter and Sirius Black don't quite know what to do with a bossy front lawn assassin but her desire to help and genuine love for baby Harry mean they're keen to keep her close and find out. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Adamantine Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me and I make no profit from this story.
> 
> Thank you for choosing to read this rather dark but sometimes silly story. Please be warned that this work is still in progress and may be further edited in the future. At this time, the main pairing is Sirius Black/Hermione Granger but there is a very good possibility of a triad forming in later chapters. If it does, I will make sure to add that to the Relationships list. I have several chapters already completed and know where I would like to take this story but I am open to hearing suggestions if you happen to have any. Please enjoy.

The heavy aura of residual magic flooded the area, crackling in ribbons through the cool air above her and tingling her skin. Face down in what felt like grass, a strangled gasp suddenly tore out of her. Oxygen raced through her blood as she coughed, tasting ozone. She sputtered through a mouthful of dirt and finally breathed deeply as the awful dizzy feeling of asphyxiation faded.

Her body felt dreadfully heavy and for a moment Hermione considered if she might be partially buried.

Startled into action, her eyes flew open and she tried to master her limbs to sit up. Sliding her elbows and knees beneath her through the crushed debris went slower than she intended. Hunched over, Hermione paused a moment to press her pounding forehead into the scratchy mix of grass and leaves. Her body ached with every breath but remaining unaware and vulnerable was unacceptable. She took another steadying breath to gather herself then stubbornly pushed her torso upright. Kneeling, she cautiously lifted her head above the grass line and methodically scanned her surroundings.

Tension straightened her spine and sent sharp sparks of alarm to clear the fog in her mind. She recognized where she was though the trees were younger than she remembered and the cobblestones were freshly laid. Her eyes widened and shock threatened to shatter her cool evaluation. She had thought she failed. Further down the lane, she watched the last muted flickers of magic as they dissipated into the darkening night.

Even with evidence apparent around her, she had to be sure.

Hermione kept her gaze firmly on the quiet houses nearby while her trembling fingers pulled down the zipper on her old leather jacket and slid beneath the top of her camisole. The icy touch ghosted over warm, clean skin, old scars and one new addition; a thin, faintly raised line several centimeters long just above her breasts in the center of her chest.

Horror filled her and she was unable to suppress the shudder that ripped through her body. Hastily, she tore her hand away and clenched her jaw as her throat tightened around a scream she refused to release. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and her body began to shake. Hermione realized she was in danger of losing control. She curled forward over her knees and tried to slow her panicked breaths. Automatically, her hands fumbled first for the reassurance of her wand then her ever-present beaded bag. Terror stalled her mind and the world seemed to slip out from under her when only the first could be found. Wand gripped tightly in one hand, her other slapped wildly down her body in search of the little purple bag that might be her saving grace here.

Whipping around to search the ground behind her, Hermione felt thin leather straps tighten across her hips and left thigh as she stretched. She deflated in relief as she finally remembered that before departing she had cleverly made a new version of her charmed bag from an understated hip harness that she could wear tightly strapped to her body. It was intended to be more accessible and allay her perfectly reasonable fear of losing it. Maybe she should have practiced wearing it earlier so she could have avoided that entire moment of gut-churning panic. Cleverness only helped if you could remember you were being clever. Exasperated, she patted the bag and rolled her eyes at herself.

When she had arrived, flat on her face, her core magic reserves were a breath away from entirely depleted. While a magical being could survive with their power bound, certain death awaited those who were so foolhardy as to completely overestimate their magical capacity. It took a series of strong replenishing potions or at least several weeks rest to recuperate that much over expenditure.

She had nearly killed herself to get here and had felt like death warmed over at first. Her muscles had felt overexerted and fatigue had slowed her mind before alarm shot adrenaline through her system. She frowned as her skin continued to tingle oddly. At first, she had thought it was blood flow rapidly returning to numb limbs but too much time had passed for that to still be the case. It wasn’t just her limbs tingling either but all over, even her face. Maybe it was a reaction to the excess magic still in the air; whatever was left of those softly crackling ribbons of light and power.

However, even allowing for that, she shouldn’t feel so good. At best she should be barely cognizant and supine in the grass after that much unintentional loss. Instead, something was causing her sore muscles to unclench, her pounding headache to ease, and her energy to progressively rise.

Suddenly it clicked in her mind that she must be absorbing the residual magic left over from the ritual she had performed. There had been so much lingering magic when she appeared that it visibly disturbed the air. She reckoned the excess swirling about was drawn to her like a magnet, seeping in through her skin to replenish her magical core. If she kept absorbing it at the current rate, there was a theoretical probability that it would temporarily overfill her core, leaving her practically bursting with more raw power than before.

Well, sweet Circe, that was a glorious positive. Now she might not die a horrific death after all.

Hermione debated rising from her knees to begin the next step in her plan and judged the steadily darkening sky to be nearly shadowed enough to obscure her movements. Still, she wordlessly cast a disillusionment charm on herself. She hadn’t seen a single soul yet she could faintly discern the catchy tune of a popular old wizarding song drifting on the wind from the pub down the lane.

She had to keep in mind that, though she couldn’t see it, the confusingly arbitrary space beside her grassy arrival point cleverly concealed a cottage. Hidden within were the first two people she planned to save and her best friend. The one person that she had given up everything for. The man that she loved fiercely as her family, her brother, her platonic soulmate. Life without Harry Potter simply wasn’t a life she wanted. But here, now, he was only a baby.

Complacent from months on end of what amounted to house arrest, his young parents wouldn’t be ready for death to calmly walk up to their door. But this time she would be here to stop the monster. Failing that, she could at least stall him long enough to give the family a chance at preparation, perhaps even escape. While she was betting on them seeing the danger from their windows, after the commotion she would likely cause, it didn’t seem wise to alert them beforehand. They would have no reason to listen to her or, if they did, their early departure from the scene could potentially cause Voldemort to seek them out at a later time she would then have no foreknowledge of. She had concluded that careful manipulation of the known factors was safest. If she was successful in this single act, it would throw nearly all other factors into disarray for better or worse.

She swiveled on the spot to consider the young alder tree several meters behind her. If it was too near when she cast the rather dark ritual spell she intended, its own innate magical properties would most likely cause the spell to falter. There was nothing to be done about the proximity of the roots embedded deeply below but she encouraged several of the branches above to gently turn aside. A handful of dead leaves fluttered around her with a whisper of sound but she banished them before they could reach the grass. Those already fallen and crushed into the earth should have withered passed the point of being able to adversely affect her spellwork but she wouldn’t risk her chances by adding to the pile.

The shadows had grown dark and blended with the night around her as she drew one knee up and settled into a crouch. Hermione gently slid her treasured vine wood wand into the braided mass of curls at the back of her head before dipping the fingers of her left hand into the deceptively small leather bag attached to her hip. A significant length of her forearm disappeared within before she retrieved what she was looking for and reverently cradled the objects in her cupped hands.

Each no larger than dice, the seven precious stones were painstakingly etched in delicate ancient runes. Hermione could feel the resonating connection she had fostered in each one as they warmed in her palms. She lined them up in precise order along the center of her left hand then, without hesitation, she brushed a knuckle hard across her open zipper. A warm trickle of blood slid down to gather at the tip of her finger. Before it could fall, she lightly dabbed a crimson fingerprint on each waiting stone then whispered basic cleansing and healing charms to plaster the tiny wound shut. Slowly the rune stones began to align their sedentary magic with her own to create a joyous yet inaudible hum that she could feel in her steadily strengthening magical core.

Several of the ancient texts she had referenced specifically stressed the importance of inscribing the ritual runes on the type of gemstone most in tune with the caster. With a dark spell such as she was about to attempt, the connection had to be unwavering. If the connection between the caster and the stones wasn’t deep enough there was a very real possibility of the ‘focus’, or more appropriately termed ‘prey,’ breaking free. Once her spell was activated, if all went to plan, only she, as the caster, would be left unhindered. Wisely heeding the warnings, she had carefully selected the type of stone and then each of the seven precious gems individually for a resonating connection with her specifically.

Fidelius Charms were tricky and supposedly impossible to circumvent through natural or magical means. However, no one had ever taken time travel into account. Leaving her original time after the protective spell on the Potter Cottage had been destroyed, she was free to blend her awareness of the precise location of her target site with her knowledge of arithmancy and geomancy. If her calculations were correct, she should be crouched just outside their garden gate.

Mindful of her footsteps in the fallen autumn leaves, and wary eyes scanning her surroundings, she resolutely began to lay her trap. Each labradorite gemstone was lovingly placed with purpose in a wide ring around her arrival place. The tall untended grass conveniently hid her rune stones and in the dark of night they appeared as dull as any other rock upon the ground.

As she drew the wand from her hair, a single unruly curl managed to pull loose and bounced frustratingly beside her cheek. Ignoring it, since fussing would only cause it to worsen, she paused once more and meticulously triple-checked the exact placement and orientation of the seven gemstones. Reassured she was on the right track, she first sent a gentle sticking charm to each stone to be entirely sure that a more forceful spell wouldn’t dislodge them in any way. Then she followed it with a much stronger one to solidify them all in place. Satisfied with her rune stone arrangement, she silently strengthened the disillusionment charm on herself and rose to stand.

Balancing gracefully, she lifted her feet high with each step directly forward and then passed the invisible ring of magic she had set into the ground. Sticking charms blessedly in place, it was actually impossible for her to jostle them now but prudence called for her utmost effort.

Turning back around to face her perfectly camouflaged handiwork, she realized there was nothing left for her to prepare but her nerves. Her Adamantine Circle was ready and waiting for its prey.


	2. A Handsome Monster

The sharp pop of a carelessly noisy apparition echoed hollowly through the cool evening air and dread pooled in her belly.

Out of the darkness, a distinguished looking man sauntered down the lane with a swirling black cloak sharply reminiscent of her old potions professor. The flash of his blood-red eyes confirmed his identity as he lifted his head to survey the concealed house behind her with a grimace of disdain. She held perfectly still in anticipation as the man casually turned and stepped off the cobblestone lane into the rustling overgrown grass. His pace was gloatingly sedate as he approached the home of the baby he intended to slaughter.

Unknown to the him, Voldemort’s path would first lead him directly toward her disillusioned hiding place and into her trap.

Hard won experience readied her stance and shifted her complete focus to the moment. Soul-deep fury burned away any lingering hesitation. Cloaked in silence and as still as death, Hermione watched the deceptively handsome monster draw near.

He was five steps away when he passed the concealed edge of the rune stone circle and triggered her trap. At once, the seven labradorite stones flashed in activation. Faster than she could see, a translucent dome shimmered into existence; its pearly sheen rippled with power around the stone ring. The inaudible hum she had felt before suddenly returned and rose in pitch to reverberate through the village in a deep thrum of triumph.

Shock briefly swept across his face before impatience and loathing twisted his features into a hateful sneer. Pale hands empty, he lifted one to gently brush against the faintly shimmering gossamer shield that kept him contained. The intimacy of the odd caress unnerved her. She sensed his magic skate along the edge of hers, assessing. Suddenly his pointed fingers stabbed at the barrier, red light twisting between his hand and the ward, attempting to find a weak point and break through. The hum intensified. Her Adamantine Circle was supposed to be unbreakable but this fragmented creature disguised as a man commanded too much dark magic to be allowed to explore her spell. Underestimating him would only lead to failure.

Vine wood wand held firmly at her right side, Hermione flicked the fingers of her free hand and wandlessly removed her disillusionment charm. From within the barrier he caught sight of her and dropped his hand, arrogantly not reaching for his wand. She stood poised as his red eyes flicked down her body dismissively.

“Quite presumptuous for a little girl.” Voldemort announced in a surprisingly cultured deep voice. In the time when she had known him he had purposely corrupted his physical form to such an extent that his words only escaped on a hiss.

She chose to remain silent. Sparring verbally with a monster would be pointless. The fact of the matter was, she knew he had to die. She had to kill him in that very spot and not a step closer to the innocents probably playing peek-a-boo inside. Putting off the inevitable violence while he nattered on would only frustrate her and give him more time to weasel his way out of her trap.

Recognizing that there was no time like the present, she almost chuckled to herself as she took a step through the shimmering barrier and finally entered the ancient trap with the most feared wizard alive.

“You think it wise to stand between Lord Voldemort and his prey?” He queried, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. Expecting anger, she saw only bemusement and mild suspicion. He studied her more carefully.

She suddenly got the impression that he expected people to either prostrate themselves before him in fear or immediately fling curses wildly about. It would seem he wasn’t approached with calm and collected defiance very often.

His intent blood-red stare prickled her skin and she didn’t dare to blink as the adversaries remained motionless and waited to see who would make the first move. He cocked his head slightly to the side and she realized she intrigued him.

The nearly imperceptible rustle of his left arm moving beneath his voluminous cloak was her only warning before a sickly green light shot toward her face. She twisted instinctively to dodge the Killing Curse, hearing the rush of sound streak barely passed her and in the same move aimed a slicing hex at his feet.

He hopped.

Hermione Granger, Queen Mudblood of her time, had just made the Dark Lord hop like a bunny.

He glared at her, affronted. Her eyes widened at the absurdity of the moment and she could feel an irrational giggle try to worm its way up her throat. Her expression never changed but he still perceived the unintentional slight and snarled at the indignity.

This battle to the death was decidedly not happening as she had assumed it would.

As if that thought was enough to spark the fight, they began in earnest, firing curses furiously and without pause other than to dodge or block. Flames shot passed her left shoulder as she lunged, not bothering to block a small slicing hex that ripped into her shin in favor of retaliating with a more powerful blasting curse. He quickly summoned a shield but was only partially able to protect himself as the explosion burst brightly a breath away from his skin.

A dozen sharp-taloned ravens streamed from the tip of her wand and swept around him to peck, scratch and heckle him into distraction. He wisely tried to shield himself from her next attack while he was forced to destroy each bird individually. Cleverly, she threw a cushioning charm at the earth below him with enough force to cause his once glossy black shoes to sink in. He flung his arms wide instinctively as his weight pulled him off balance and he fell backward.

Mentally preparing her next volley of spells as she watched him tilt, she was surprised by a shout behind her and spun to the left in time to see a dark haired young man fire a powerful curse toward her opponent. Halfway to its destination, it slammed into her crystalline shield and exploded in a shower of sparks uselessly.

Hermione could feel her rune stones rumble with the strain of being bombarded unintentionally from both sides but their connection to her held firm.

Before the interloper could fire another damaging attack, she summoned a shield for herself and called out to him desperately.

“Get back inside! Protect Harry and get out of here!” Her voice was rough with strain. She ignored a pop of apparition and focused fully on the monster before her who was on his feet once again. She had lost her moment to catch him distracted.

He looked more menacing than ever. Wand aloft, Voldemort lifted his free hand toward her, fingers splayed. They paused for a moment while he let her realize he had been playing with her. He would squish her like a bothersome bug before he let her whisk his prey away to safety.

The battle resumed but the steady pace from before felt like a joke as the vengeful demon hammered her with dark spells from all directions. She barely had time to breathe let alone block the waves of ripping, slicing, and burning he showered her with. His skill was immense.

And he was winning.

Distantly, she could hear two voices shouting outside her shielding circle but blocked them from her mind. There was nothing anyone could do from the other side to effect the fight within.

Eventually, a curse broke through to slice deeply up her shoulder but the sheer power behind it knocked her off her feet and caused her wand to slide out of her grip. She was thrown a full meter back and almost through the barrier of her rune circle. Thick blood cascaded down her right arm and soaked into her muggle jeans as she scrambled to gain her feet.

The sharp prod of a wand on the vulnerable skin under her chin froze her movements. Voldemort stood above her and used the stabbing pressure to direct her to slowly raise her face up. Crouched before him in pseudo supplication, she stared defiantly at the monster who was so sure of her defeat.

Hellish red eyes bored into her, slashing and tearing at her occluded mind. The excruciating pain of the invasion threatened to shatter her tenuous hold on her inner defenses. He was a master Legilimens but she could not risk allowing him to discover her knowledge and true purpose.

Her wand was out of reach and useless on the ground behind her. Subtly, her left hand slipped inside the charmed hip harness at her side to frantically search for something to aid her. His eyes flashed in frustrated displeasure and he leaned in to cruelly grip her face with his other hand. Agony blinded her as he began to peel away her defenses and she knew she could not keep him out much longer.

Suddenly, the hilt of something cool and solid materialized in her palm and she had the fleeting thought that she was a Gryffindor and everything within her bag had come with her from her own time. She didn’t hesitate as she drew the enchanted sword from her pocket-sized bag. It whipped through the air in a soundless arc up and then slashed down to cleanly sever his forearms in half.

He screamed inhumanly as the two appendages detached and thumped to the ground in finality. Hot blood gushed from the stumps that remained of his arms, splashing her face as she threw herself away from him and curled backward into a roll over her shoulder. Her right hand snatched her wand from the grass as she spun. Unflinchingly, she cast a dark cursed fire she knew she couldn’t control as momentum propelled her passed the barrier of her rune stones. She quickly dropped the curse before it could follow her outside the Adamantine Circle.

She hastily stabbed the Sword of Gryffindor in the grass beside her to free her left hand and held it before her to wandlessly reinforce her connection with the shimmering barrier. With her other she grimly cast a wind jinx that caused a spiraling breeze to encircle the boundary. The spell couldn’t pass the barrier but its effect on the night air around it fanned oxygen in to feed the hungry flaming chimeras that prowled the burning center.

The dark lord was able to command exceptionally strong magic but in his weakened state the nearly sentient flames quickly overcame his resistance. The cursed flames rose as they devoured him, his howl of defeat snuffed out by the roaring conflagration. She quickly ended her wind jinx and speared her wand back into her disheveled braids. Fiendfyre billowed up into the night sky in a cylinder of uncontrollable heat as it sought escape from its confines. Her shield stretched upward with the force of it and lit the night sky like a beacon. If the cursed inferno broke loose it would devour the entire village.

She took a deep breath to center herself and reached deep within her magical core for the humming connection to the barrier, hands outstretched before her. Finding it easily, she took control of the link and began the arduous task of carefully contracting the barrier and shrinking it in upon itself to smother the fire. They fought against her, snakes of flame wildly striking out, but she was resolute.

Minutes later, she had gradually reduced it back down to roughly the height of a man when a terrible notion abruptly speared her mind. Before, Voldemort’s fragmented soul had been free to incorporeally flee after the rebounded curse somehow destroyed his first body. If the basilisk venom from the sword didn’t have enough time to reach and destroy this fragment of his soul then she needed to ensure the Fiendfyre did.

Trepidation filled her and before it could cause her to waver she promptly slammed her palms firmly to the ground several times in quick succession. The upper curve of the barrier mirrored her movements, effectively stamping out the remaining Fiendfyre and the possibility of any form of what was left of the evil creature within to survive.

Silence filled the air and tension held her still as she searched for any sign of spectral activity. She held her breath as she waited to see if it was over. If she was successful. If this fragment of him was destroyed.

Faint wisps of smoke gently settled over the large black smudge burned into the earth. A perfect demarcation separating a circle of death from untouched autumn leaves.

She pulled in a shaky breath and blew it out slowly as she finally dropped her arms and rose to stand. She felt lightheaded and noticed the right sleeve of her fitted leather jacket squished stickily against her arm. She began muttering various healing charms to stem the blood flow from her shoulder and try to seal it as much as possible. Several tangled curls fell across her vision and she started to casually flick them away when she noticed they looked nearly dipped in ichor.

Belatedly, the horror of what she had just done hit her and she frantically tried to wipe away the blood on her face with shaking hands. Little panicked breaths choked her and her mind whirled as she tried to rationalize her reaction. She had killed before. She had survived too many battles to have escaped with that part of her spirit intact. Yet, as a witch, the attacks she orchestrated most often caused no significant visible harm. She recalled the veritable fountain of blood spurting from Riddle after she had unhesitatingly hacked off his arms and knew she was going to be sick.

A spell flashed and something smacked her in the back making her stumble slightly to the side. Her body drooped as an unusual muffled sensation filled her brain. She haltingly glanced around, perplexed, and eventually rotated enough to spot three tall figures who stood behind her watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing! Please let me know if you have any questions, comments or suggestions. I would love to hear from you.


	3. Struck From Behind

A spell flashed and something smacked her in the back making her stumble slightly to the side. Her body drooped as an unnatural muffled sensation filled her brain. She haltingly glanced around, dazed and perplexed. Hermione eventually rotated enough to spot three tall figures who warily stood behind her watching.

A pale young man with disheveled black hair and glasses stood nearest her. He was fairly blurry for some reason but her heart soared to see a familiar face she loved so much.

“Harry!” She squealed in unrestrained excitement. A smile blossomed on her face and she nearly crashed into him in her enthusiasm. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and fell into him as she buried her face in his neck. Her feet were unsteady but she trusted him to hold her up. She took a deep breath, searching for his comforting scent that had always made her feel safe: treacle tart, lemon, and broomstick handle polish.

She was about to sigh in contentment when realized those were not the scents that she detected. He smelled different. Like baby powder. She frowned as she managed to discern that underneath that she could smell cinnamon, parchment, and something wild like the forest. 

Alarmed, she tensed and then noticed he was stiff as a board. The man had his palms pressed rigidly against her stomach as if he wanted to push her away. Her arms were stretched wide trying to reach around his shoulders but she remembered Harry had never been much larger than herself. She jerked back suddenly and saw his neck was higher than it should have been. Harry’s shoulder had been at the level of her chin for years since puberty. She tipped her face up to study his blurry features but, while it was all rather indistinct, it was clear his eyes were not the bright green they should be. She took a stumbling step backward in growing unease and scowled with suspicion at the imposter.

“Who the bloody hell are you,” She barked, then decided to add accusingly, “and why do you have my Harry’s face?” They were standing less than a meter apart so she knew there was no need to yell but she couldn’t seem to control the volume of her voice.

The imposter seemed lost for words and merely continued to stare at her with wide hazel-brown eyes. She wasn’t sure but she thought his expression seemed to vacillate between a subdued sort of shock and horror.

The not-quite-there space behind him made her mind fizzle so she lifted her gaze and rested her eyes happily on the sea of little twinkling stars that were spinning around above her. They were so pretty. The sparkling specks were turning into streaks and watching them caused her stomach to roll. If they didn’t slow down up there soon she might be sick. She felt her body sway in an almost drunken manner and it vaguely registered that her hazy mind had started to wander. Her brain had always been so good at focusing. She had the niggling feeling that something was wrong with her.

Someone cleared their throat sharply off to her right and, in her haste to shift her attention, she listed dangerously to the side before jerking herself upright again with a little bounce. She found herself facing a man with wavy, coal-black hair and familiar grey eyes that studied her face in uncertainty. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Sirius,” She called out, overjoyed. “You’re here!” Happiness swelled within her and nearly burst out of her seams. She quickly ran the few steps to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He hesitated a moment but soon enfolded her loosely in his arms. This time when she took a deep breath she caught the right scents: leather, spearmint, and freshly cut grass. She sighed and buried her face in his warm t-shirt. This man was undoubtedly Sirius unlike the other one who was only shallowly like her Harry. She continued to hold tightly to Sirius’ waist when she arched back quickly to look him in the eye.

“That man is not Harry, Sirius.” She confided hurriedly while gripping the back of his leather jacket. “He’s too big and he smells wrong and his eyes might be the wrong color but I can’t really say for sure because the world is awful swimmy. Do you know why that is?”

Before he could answer her, she tensed again as it suddenly dawned on her muddled mind that Sirius had died years before; fallen through the Veil. But somehow he was here, held fast in her arms, so maybe this was her chance to warn him.

“Don’t go.” Her voice was low with urgency and remembered fear. “Don’t go, Sirius, the Ministry, it’s a trap.” Distress caused her words to come too fast. 

“Please listen to me,” She begged. “Harry needs you, we can’t do this without you.” She shook her head but he gripped her elbows and gently pushed her away. She could see from his furrowed brow that he wasn’t listening. She couldn’t just let him go. 

“No!” She cried, frantic to stop him. Her fingers snagged the edges of his open leather jacket and she hauled herself closer again. “Please, promise me you won’t go,” She gasped, “the Veil, stay away from it.” Her voice cracked and she felt a hot tear drip down her cheek. 

“Please, Sirius.” She whispered. She stared deeply into his light grey eyes set in a handsome unlined face.

She felt her blood turn to ice and her eyes widened with dread. Quickly, she shoved him away but her equilibrium was so distorted that she only managed to push herself backward. Her breaths came too fast and she pressed a hand to her chest and stomach to try to contain her fear. She stared blindly at the grass, muttering to herself, and forced her mind to work.

His face was too handsome. He was missing that weathered look Sirius always carried with him for as long as she’d known him. This man was too young. He was wrong. They both were. 

No, she was wrong. She held perfectly still as things slowly started to click into place. The problem was her. She had always thought faster than this, knew more, and didn’t lose focus so easily. The problem was with her.

She took another step back, still mumbling quietly, and knew down to her bones that if she just said the right word it would all make sense. The hand on her chest started robotically smacking as if she could jar the word out of her mouth. Each open-palmed thump seemed to toss a spark at some strange massive well deep within her that she could feel roiling with unnamed power. Her fingers tingled and several escaped chestnut curls frizzed with static electricity but oddly, it felt good. It felt somehow natural.

She could see in her peripheral vision the three figures start to close in around her. She knew she was so close to figuring it out, she didn’t dare stop. She shut her eyes and balled her fists, pressing them firmly against her torso. Then, as a last-ditch effort, she internally yanked on the odd roiling sensation. She gasped as her body jerked slightly and Hermione felt something foreign shatter within her mind.

Finally free, she steadied herself and glared at the men around her with unclouded eyes. One of them had hit her with a Confundus Spell while her back was turned. She was exhausted, furious, still covered in blood and now to top it all off, thanks to them she was embarrassed. Hermione dropped her fists to her sides and marched grumpily up to the one in the middle.

“Sirius Black, you arse!” She gave a swat to his wide chest, “You made me forget I’m a witch!” Her rebuke was swiftly followed by another whack. She narrowed her eyes, rested her hands on her hips and took a deep breath to start scolding him properly. Then she halted when Sirius lifted his hand to point at the third man slightly further away.

“What?” She asked quietly bemused, looking back and forth rather comically between the two. She pursed her lips in disapproval when Sirius suddenly gave her an all too innocent expression.

“It wasn’t me.” He said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Snape hit you with the Confundus.” Sirius jerked his chin at the other man and appeared quite pleased to be able to blame him.

She turned and studied the third man. Young Severus Snape had the same hooked nose and black cloak she remembered but his expression, while confused and quite furious at being the scapegoat, appeared overall less reserved.

“Oh, I see.” She said neutrally. Then with a nod to Severus she conceded, “Decent choice for rendering your opponent too oblivious to defend themselves.” Her ingrained swottiness rose to the surface and she felt impelled to add, “However, the Confundus has notoriously unpredictable effects on different people, as you can see. The caster has no real control over whether the target will be left drooling in a stupor or conversely, merely puzzled about the time.”

Hermione looked among the three men awkwardly and saw them staring at her like she had lost her mind. She blushed knowing she was being a tad ridiculous but she felt it was indisputably vital to impress upon them the correct reaction they should have had. These men were in a war and faced with a complete stranger who turned up out of thin air and promptly murdered a man on their front lawn. This was too important to let slide.

“Sirius, you’re trained as an Auror, aren’t you? You should have acted first by disarming me and then - ,” She was abruptly cut off as she was hit with two spells near simultaneously. James promptly disarmed her, knocking her off her feet, while he deftly caught her wand. In the next instant, Sirius took the opportunity to tie her up neatly, though overzealously, in magical ropes from shoulder to ankle. It was over before she could make sense of it.

“You mean like that, Angel?” Sirius smirked, cavalier and clearly proud of himself. James chuckled quietly beside him though he still keenly watched her every move.

She had no one to blame but herself for that. From the ground, Hermione heaved a deep put upon sigh and sulked.

“Yep.”


	4. A Task For Severus

The ebb and flow of a whispered argument between two male voices woke her. Her eyes snapped open but the training drilled into her psyche held her body steady as she took stock of the situation.

Hermione remembered the duel. She had made absolutely sure the remaining fragment of Voldemort’s corrupted soul was destroyed in the cursed flames. He still had his Horcruxes, but at least the most actively dangerous portion of him was eliminated. She remembered the confusing and awkward first meeting with two of the young Marauders and a barely more approachable Severus Snape. She also remembered lecturing them like an idiot, but, in all honesty, she still felt justified in that. Then they tied her up and must have stunned her.

What they had witnessed would have made her appear too dangerous for an automatic ally yet too sincerely helpful to be an enemy. Most likely, they would have taken her to Order Headquarters for interrogation. For safety’s sake, they wouldn’t have wanted her aware enough to know the location. 

She was seated in a chair with her head hung loosely forward, chin against chest. Magical ropes wrapped around her ribs held her upright while more around her forearms and ankles strapped her limbs to the wooden chair. If it wasn’t so confining it might actually be comfortable. The chair was surprisingly lovely. Padded and generously shaped, it seemed as though it was snagged from the head of a classically stylish dining table set.

An odd choice for the front lawn assassin you took captive.

She had to remind herself that these people didn’t know her. While some of them had been her friends and allies in her time, here they were all essentially strangers. She had known the people they would have become years from now, but only if they had continued to travel down the same path toward the Second Wizarding War. For better or worse, her interference had thrown the majority of those eventualities into the air. These people, in this time, were comparatively fresher slates. They clearly had their joys and pain and baggage but eighteen years worth of struggle and suffering had been wiped away.

In this version of the world, they would be free to make themselves anew. They could perhaps follow different paths that had originally been closed to them. Some would likely find more happiness and fulfillment. More specifically, Sirius wouldn’t have to be falsely imprisoned, Severus wouldn’t need to be virtually enslaved as a double agent, and neither of Harry’s parents would be dead. The potential for a much better world was real now.

“There is no use pretending.” A silky voice murmured from behind her, abruptly snapping her out of her reflection. “I know you are awake.”

Caught, she grimaced and lifted her head to stretch the sore muscles in her neck. Using the movement, Hermione glanced around the empty white chamber and saw the same three men from before. Sirius and James must have been the pair arguing in the corner. Exhausted, she sighed and rolled her uninjured shoulder as much as her bindings would allow then settled in for her interrogation.

“You will tell us who you are.” The command was sharp and to the point. It might have even been intimidating if she hadn’t spent six years with that voice barking directions and insults at her in Potions Class.

She licked her lips and narrowed her eyes at the wall opposite her in indecision as she debated how much to reveal. There was so much to share about their situation but the danger was in how they would react. It could cause undue complications if she divulged too many pieces too early. But not giving a satisfactory answer would only sow further distrust.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she tried to dredge up how she had previously planned to introduce herself but her mind felt gummy and slow. Blood loss and excessive magic use, for the second time that night, made it difficult to concentrate. The left side of her neck stung with heat in what was probably a rapidly developing burn. Her right arm from the shoulder down had become disturbingly numb and she remembered being interrupted while trying to patch herself back together. She bit her bottom lip and tried to hold back the wave of fatigue that was perilously close to dragging her under.

“Defiance,” Snape hissed, mistaking her reticence for refusal. He leaned in closely over her shoulder and his voice rumbled low with warning, “that would not be wise.”

She furrowed her brow as she turned her head to study him. His face displayed such earnestness, such depth of emotion. He was trying hard to intimidate her but that was what gave him away. 

Severus Snape was unnerved. His eyes were haunted with the lingering terror of nearly losing the one woman he was desperate to protect. This younger version of him was so different from her old professor. She had once watched him die and even then his face hadn’t held such raw feeling.

Shivering but ultimately unconcerned, she murmured, “Sorry, old habits as they say.” She wiggled against her bonds, testing them, and suppressed the growing urge to break free that howled in her mind.

In front of her, the other two men leaned side by side against the wall, arms folded and wands in hand. Despite their argument, James and Sirius presented a united front. They seemed curious but begrudgingly willing to let Snape take the lead. 

Mistrust burned in his eyes as Snape swiftly rounded her chair to tower over her. It suddenly registered that she still hadn’t answered his first question.

“Hermione Jean Granger.” She coolly replied and corrected her posture as much as possible in her restraints. She would try to treat this as an interview and deal proactively instead of letting it devolve. Interrogations could get decidedly nasty, she remembered.

“I have foreknowledge of certain people and key events that will take place.” She hedged. “That is how I knew where to find you.”

“Are you a seer?” James softly interrupted. His voice was a gentle baritone that she found surprisingly comforting. It was nothing like Harry’s endearingly rough tenor but the deeply compassionate nature felt the same.

“More importantly,” Snape caught her drifting attention, “are you a Death Eater?”

Her spine jerked in indignation and she managed to find the energy to be resentful.

“No!” She shouted. “I just killed their bloody leader.” Then sneering sardonically she added, “I don’t really think they would find me an acceptable contribution to their ranks.”

Bitterness poured off of her. Hadn’t they just watched her kill Voldemort? What did they think she was; some uppity pureblood princess on a power trip? Insulted, she wanted to hold it against them. However, after a moment, she could acknowledge that it was a shrewd element to consider. For all they knew of her, that could have been the case.

Despite her outburst and denial, all three men appeared unmoved and shifted their gaze to where her left forearm was tied to the chair.

James pushed off the wall and stepped up to her side. Briefly, he met her eyes as if checking for permission to touch her but they both knew that her opinion held little weight at the moment. Still, she appreciated the attempt at courtesy and helpfully twisted her hand within the restraints until she had it palm up against the arm of the chair. His nimble fingers quickly popped open the two snaps at the wrist of her worn black leather jacket and slid the material up as far as it would allow.

The pale skin of her inner forearm was permanently scarred but the leather sleeve was fairly inflexible and covered the majority of the slur from their view. The servants of Voldemort were well-known to carry the Dark Mark low, near the wrist, so when the signifier they were expecting was absent, they didn’t look further.

“Feel better?” she raised an eyebrow and tried not to smirk when James looked up almost sheepishly.

“Well, I sure do, Angel.” Sirius interjected impishly, ambling forward to stand beside his friend, his hands jammed in his front pockets.

James released her sleeve and appeared to relax as he helped her readjust her arm under the magical bindings until she was relatively comfortable.

She sighed deeply as exhaustion stole over her. Her aching body felt like it was sinking deeper into the wooden chair. Her head lolled sideways unexpectedly and, while she was aware she was in pain from her various injuries, she began to feel oddly fuzzy. An unpleasant notion suddenly surfaced through the murkiness in her tired mind; it was very likely her injuries were more severe than she had originally assumed.

She shivered and slumped in her bindings; rather glad for them now since they stopped her from sliding right out of the chair. Hermione heard herself slur out almost drunkenly, “There’s a very good possibility I’m not doing so well.” Her eyelids weighed too heavily to bother keeping open any longer and she started to drift off.

Stilted mumbling filled the air above her then someone jostled the hastily patched slice on her shoulder, likely trying to get her attention. Hot agony streamed down her arm and tensed her muscles as she choked on a gasp. Her stomach twisted and she thought she might be sick.

Sirius cursed harshly, finally catching on. She felt a hand, hot against her face, as someone gently tilted her head back and then another reached around the back of her neck to carefully hold her head up. Her mouth was pulled open and the distinctive sunny rush of a Pepper-Up Potion was poured down her throat. It managed to warm her briefly but she knew it wouldn’t do her much good if she didn’t have enough blood to keep it circulating.

Hermione opened her eyes blearily to see Sirius standing above her, concerned, and she tried to whisper to him, “Blood Replenishing.”

Thankfully he understood and moments later a second potion was tipped down her throat, this one thick and coppery. Her face scrunched up slightly in distaste but she swallowed obediently.

Hermione hissed in outrage when she felt her leather jacket being sliced away from her injured shoulder. She glared accusingly at Snape but was soundly ignored while he flicked his wand over her bloody arm. The manhandling was starting to get overwhelming with the three of them crowding around her.

“Do you mind?” She growled. “Y’know, I love this jacket. It has too much sentimental value to just go ripping it. Why didn’t you loosen these ropes? You can’t just ruin other people’s property!”

“Angel, we’re wizards.” Sirius retorted. “Don’t tell me you already forgot again?”

“We can fix it,” James tried to reassure her. Then more firmly, he added, “After your injuries are seen to.”

“Yeah, now stop whinging and be appreciative.” Sirius winked.

“You had better fix it.” She grumbled, preferring to ignore Sirius and his flirtatious nature. The version of him she had known before had rightly seen her as a child. In this time, they were nearly the same age and the look in his eye wasn’t the same. Playful teasing was normal from him but this was unsettling.There was absolutely no chance that the warmth in her cheeks had anything to do with him. No, it was definitely the potions.

After several minutes of Snape’s dark voice murmuring various healing spells and James gently slathering her stinging neck with burn paste, she looked up again at Sirius. He had been hovering while the others tried to patch her up but suddenly he leaned away and stared at her with a puzzled expression.

“Where’d you say you got that jacket?”

“I didn’t. Sentimental value, remember?” She quickly broke their gaze, self-consciously. “It belonged to a dear friend. He couldn’t use it anymore and it fit my purposes. I took it.”

“What did he think of your stealing?” 

“If he had come out of his coma, I’m sure he would have been flattered.” She said flatly, trying to end the line of questioning that was more invasive than they were aware. 

An awkward moment filled the room but Hermione took it as an opportunity to get the conversation back on track.

“I am not a threat to you. My purpose here is to help.” She looked at each of them in turn and made sure they saw she was genuine and as straightforward as possible.

“You must call a full meeting of the Order of the Phoenix as soon as possible. I have time-sensitive information that must be acted upon immediately.”

James caught her eye and squinted slightly behind his glasses as he scrutinized her face. There was no trust in his gaze but as his expression cleared, she thought she recognized guarded respect. Keeping their stare locked, he nodded with sudden decisiveness. He would call the meeting.

Sirius rubbed the faint stubble on his chin and asked subdued, “You said you have ‘foreknowledge.’” He looked up and his silvery orbs pierced directly into her. “Do you know if the Secret-Keeper was taken? Do you know if that was how You-Know-Who discovered the safe house’s location?” By the end, his silky voice had turned brittle and he crossed his arms tightly in front of himself. James threw a comforting arm over his shoulders, pulling him close.

Hermione knew what he was trying so hard to prepare himself for. They thought Pettigrew had been attacked. They trusted him so intrinsically she was sure that doubting him hadn’t yet crossed their minds. But that traitor was still alive and far too dangerous to go free. As much as she hurt for them and their broken brotherhood, she would not lie.

“I know.” Her voice was cold even as her eyes held empathy. She swallowed back her reticence and hoped they heard what she didn’t say. “Peter Pettigrew needs to be brought in.”

There was one heavy breath of silence before Sirius exploded. 

“No! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” He roared with ferocious denial while his scathing look burned her.

“Peter is family. He knows how much we love him.” Sirius bitterly howled, refusing to believe his trusted friend could have betrayed them. But despite his words, the tears beginning to fall gave away his dawning horror. “He would never do that!”

“Sirius, your plan was brilliant.” She tried to explain gently. “Let others think you’re the key to finding the Potters and draw them off while the true Secret-Keeper goes overlooked. I’m sure even he seemed shocked you chose him for such responsibility.” She shook her head. “I don’t think this was new. There has been a spy in the Order for longer than anyone ever wanted to admit. It was an opportunity to advance himself that he couldn’t refuse.”

Sirius wordlessly bellowed his pain and anger, trying to rip himself away from James’ firm hold. His face turned red but the little sob that escaped him caused James’ face to crumple; his tight grip became more of a hug. 

Hermione watched them and found herself blinking back the sting of tears. James was murmuring something quietly to him but Sirius only shook his head furiously. He shut his eyes tightly as if to block out whatever was being spoken. Sirius suddenly lunged for the door again and James struggled to hold him back from barreling out in search of Pettigrew.

As he took a shuddering breath, she tried to speak to him but the scuffle drowned her out. She tried again, patiently attempting to reach him with her voice.

“You can’t go after him, Sirius.” She repeated, gentle but firm. Then she suddenly had an idea.

“Severus.” She whipped her head back to the right, shrewdly ignoring Sirius’ renewed protests. “You would do best to apprehend Pettigrew. Be quick and clean. Make sure to petrify him.” Then after a moment’s consideration she added, “Do not let him know which side you’re taking him for.” Her steely expression met Snape’s considering look. He flicked his eyes up briefly to regard the two men who, in their devastation, seemed to be the only thing holding each other up. Snape’s expression grew remote and he blinked down at her.

“That would appear to be best.” He rumbled in his distinctly articulate fashion.

James spoke up then, surprising them all. “If you’re wrong, there’s no harm done by bringing him in. But if you’re right,” He swallowed thickly and then his face turned forbidding, “then there will be one less traitor on the loose.”

Sirius had gone silent while James spoke and instead stared unseeing at the floor. He swayed slightly as if trapped between grief, fury, and denial. On some level, Hermione had been aware that originally Sirius had taken Pettigrew’s betrayal the worst but to see him start to crack before them was excruciating.

“You should take him to see his godson, Potter.” Snape murmured. “Even I know how much he loves the boy.”

James didn't reply and instead shot him a vicious challenging stare. It looked as if there was a tenuous ceasefire between them. Probably Lily’s doing. It must be shaky at best but directly addressing each other appeared to go too far. Snape held his gaze but it had no fire behind it. He looked resigned.

“I’ll just go get him settled. Lily can keep an eye on them while I inform the Order.” James nodded at her, completely ignoring Snape, and began leading Sirius out of the room.

Hermione looked up at Snape in time to see his lip barely curl with a hint of a sneer before he noticed her attention and wiped his face of expression.

“I don’t know where Pettigrew will be but it won’t be any of his usual haunts.” She had never had the gall to ask Sirius where he had finally found him though she knew it was some muggle metropolitan area. At the time, she had felt it would still be too painful of a subject for him. But, now, it seemed like a gross miscalculation. Sirius couldn't be the one to confront him this time. But neither could Pettigrew be allowed loose to aid the remaining Death Eaters. He knew too much about the Order and it was even him who finally resurrected Voldemort. He was a danger.

“Leave that to me, Granger.” Snape replied testily. He turned on his heel with a flourish but she called out to him before he could reach the doorway.

“This room is a cell, right?” He turned to regard her curiously over his shoulder. “That means you can untie me.”

“There is a vast difference between ‘can’ and ‘will’, Granger.”

“Don’t you dare leave me here still tied up!” She shouted, “There’s blood all over me and most of it isn’t even mine. This is beyond disgusting! I need a bath.”

He lifted a condescending eyebrow as his eyes flicked disdainfully over her form.

“Hey, you don’t have to be a prick about it.” She groused. “Just untie me so I can wash and finally get some rest. I want to be entirely done with this day.”

“Don't we all.”

He reached for the doorknob and she took a deep breath to start cursing at him. However, a flick of his wand over his shoulder banished the ropes. Snape smoothly slid out of the room and, with a last careless wave of his hand, indicated the small adjoining washroom.

The door clicked shut and shimmered briefly with locking and warding spells. 

Hermione found herself alone in the quiet, dim cell.

“I think that went too easily.” Hermione muttered, a foreboding sense rising within her. “Tomorrow is going to be a right disaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts and constructive advice.


	5. Free Agent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to work on lots of different stories at once (fanfic and original) and have a terrible time sticking to a set schedule. I let my mind work on whichever story it feels inspired to add to, so that may mean I hold off on posting to a particular story for a while until I'm ready. Just keep in mind, I don't plan on abandoning anything.

After washing up, trying to sleep without the security of her wand had been a nightmare. Several, in fact. Her body was too drained to avoid resting but, once there, her mind was trapped reliving painful memories and even worse imagined scenarios.

When her cell door finally opened again, James found her sitting curled in a ball in the corner with her still-ripped jacket spread over her knees.

“You lied.” She accused dismally.

“What?” James looked startled and perplexed as he shut the door behind him, locking them both inside.

“You said you would fix my jacket.” She repeated, not bothering to move or lift her head from the stark white wall beside her.

For a moment, he appeared contrite, but then he shoved his hands in his pockets and stood before her cocky and unashamed.

“You could have asked Snape before he left last night. He should have fixed it for you since he’s the one that cut it up in the first place.”

“He wasn’t the one who offered to mend it.” Hermione gave him a level stare, unamused. “You did.”

A staring contest ensued that went on longer than it probably should have. Since both were stubborn Gryffindors, it lasted until James eventually sighed and bent over to carefully slide her tattered jacket off her lap.

While he stood methodically patching the sliced bits back together with his wand, Hermione decided to broach a subject she had been curious about but hadn’t thought was wise to mention earlier.

“I know why I trust Snape,” She started, “But why do you?”

James paused in his mending but didn’t look up.

“I don’t, really. Lily does.” He went back to fixing but his wand movements were more rough and agitated. “Ever since we went into hiding it’s like she has nothing left to distract her from how much she misses him.” His lip curled as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.

“Was that why you didn’t attack him at Godric’s Hollow last night?”

“When I ran out to confront You-Know-Who, I shouted to her that I was going to call for help. I called for Sirius.” James tossed her repaired jacket back at her, shoving his wand in his pocket. “She apparently decided to do the same. What I don’t understand is why she didn’t call Moody or Dumbledore. Why him?”

He wiped his face harshly in frustration but it didn’t completely muffle his words as he mumbled, “Why is it always him?”

Growing up, everyone had tried to convince Harry that his parents were madly in love. Maybe they had been. But for those long months in hiding, James and Lily hadn’t been allowed to communicate much with anyone; things might have been changing.

Maybe Snape hadn’t been the only one pining over lost friendship.

“I called the meeting.” James interrupted her musing.

He duplicated the chair in the middle of the room and set the copy across from it before plopping himself down heavily. He waved one hand with a pompous flourish to indicate she get off the ground and take a seat.

“Quite a gentleman, I see.” Hermione grumbled but slowly eased herself up and shuffled over to collapse in the pretty chair.

Concern flickered across his face along with shame so she was unsurprised when he asked, “Still hurt from yesterday?”

“The actual injuries are healing but excessive magic use takes time to recuperate.” She sighed and wrapped herself in her jacket again. The room was a little too chilly for just a camisole and thin shirt over jeans. James’ worried expression didn’t ease. She took pity on him and said mildly, “I’ll be fine.”

“Is the meeting happening soon?” Hermione asked, trying to change the subject. “Is that why you’re in here with me?”

“No,” He shook his head. “The meeting isn’t until tonight. Dumbledore -”

“Are you serious?” She yelled, forgetting her exhaustion. “Time-sensitive information. That is what I told you.” She punctuated her words with a viciously pointed finger stabbed in his direction.

“It’s not up to me!”

“People are still in danger!”

“You-Know-Who is dead!” James roared, leaping up from his chair to tower over her. “We have time now to -”

“He’s not.” Her voice cracked and she stared at him imploringly.

“What?” His posture wilted and he sounded dazed.

“He’s not dead.”

“But I was there! I watched you burn him alive.” James shoved his hands into his messy black hair, knocking his glasses askew. “What are you trying to say?”

“There is more to it than that, James. That meeting needs to happen immediately. Everyone needs to be brought in. The Longbottoms are still in danger.”

“It isn’t over.” He whispered.

She shook her head sadly and repeated apologetically, “It isn’t over.”

 

………………………………………………………………

 

Two hours later, Order members were still trickling in to Headquarters. Some were wearing what looked suspiciously like pajamas but, as a muggleborn, she had often found it difficult to understand the odd fashion choices of wizards. Hermione suspected it was still the early hours of the morning since many members were bleary-eyed and threatening to venture out in search of tea.

From the number of glares directed toward James and Sirius, Hermione began to wonder if they had used Howlers to wake everyone up and force the meeting. She felt more sure that was the case when she caught Sirius trying to hide a wicked smirk behind his mug while he slurped obnoxiously.

When he had walked in that morning Sirius appeared much more composed than he had the night before. He had sauntered straight over to her with a confident smile.

“You'll see, little witch.” He’d calmly asserted. “When Peter joins us, you'll understand that what you suggested about him is impossible. We'll have a great laugh then you can apologize and all will be forgiven.”

Hermione had nodded meekly in reply, not yet willing to argue and be the cause of more pain. She knew Sirius was a smart man. If he wanted to believe in his friend until the last possible moment, that only showed what a remarkable person he was. That stalwart devotion to those he loved was part of the Sirius she remembered but now he practically glowed with it. With James firmly by his side, bitterness and fear didn’t seem to touch him, instead they slid away like water off a duck’s back.

However, while Sirius turned to greet a yawning dark-haired woman who shuffled in, Hermione saw that James didn’t appear quite so sure of a positive outcome. The dark circles under his eyes were in stark contrast to his wan complexion as he rubbed his brow wearily. The grimace fell away from his lips immediately when Sirius glanced back at them but the tense muscle in his jaw remained. Whatever his doubts, James was doing his best to hide his own fears and spare Sirius while he could.

The two reminded her sharply of herself and Harry. She had always been painfully realistic but adored that once Harry grew to care for someone, he was unflinchingly loyal to the end. It was surprising to see Harry so much in Sirius when everyone had always assumed he was more like his father.

The grumbling newcomers largely ignored her, seeming unsure what to think of an unrestrained battered woman in their holding cell. As the only one seated, Hermione felt at a terrible disadvantage. Sirius had scooted her chair into the farthest corner from the door after banishing the bed to give everyone more space to move around but she still felt they were all too crowded. When she mentioned it to Sirius, he rolled his eyes but started arranging stools around the edge of the room.

While most of the group tried to politely shuffle around each other to find a seat, the two Marauders set their chairs neatly beside hers but remained standing. She didn’t delude herself thinking it was for her protection or out of solidarity. They were probably there to monitor her. Self-appointed guards, ready to protect the Order from the unknown stranger.

Hermione heard the door open again just before another familiar voice started cheerfully wishing everyone a good morning. She managed to glimpse the tell-tale Weasley red hair and felt a little comforted that Arthur had arrived. He seemed to come alone, so Molly must have stayed home with the children.

“Anyone still not shown up?” Arthur raised his voice to ask the group. Heads swiveled and someone started mumbling numbers, presumably counting the members present.

“Dung isn’t here.” A young and lanky man wearing Auror robes announced helpfully. If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked like Kingsley Shacklebolt but with a full head of springy tight curls.

“Well, I didn’t call him,” Sirius groused unabashedly, “He’s a nasty little weasel. I figured you would, Prongs.”

“I don’t like him either. I thought, if it turned out we really needed him, someone could fill him in later.”

“That probably won’t be necessary.” Hermione cut in, swiftly drawing the attention of the room. “Mundungus has his uses but he really shouldn't be privy to what we must discuss today.”

“It would seem we’re still missing Remus, Moody, and Dumbledore.” She briskly announced in a businesslike tone. “Minerva is needed at Hogwarts with the Headmaster away and Hagrid is there helping to guard the grounds. Peter Pettigrew is … otherwise engaged though I’m sure we’ll be seeing him shortly. And the Longbottoms should still be in hiding, correct?”

She had overheard James mentioning earlier that Lily had begrudgingly agreed to stay with Harry until something else could be worked out. The other people she would prefer to have attend weren’t technically Order members yet in this timeline.

“Who told you so much about us?” Arthur asked, wary and distrustful. Then he shot Sirius and James censuring looks. “Dumbledore is aware you’ve told her so much, right you two?”

“That is part of what we will be discussing once the rest of the Order arrives, Arthur.” Hermione smoothly tried to placate but sighed despairingly when she saw her accidental use of his name had only made him more nervous.

“Remus is still on a mission.” Sirius explained over the murmuring of the group. “He’s been off doing something top secret for months. Who knows when he’ll come back.”

“But he needs to be here for the meeting.” She retorted waspishly, quickly losing her patience.

“Dumbledore said he’s needed elsewhere and won’t recall him just for a single meeting.”

She was silent for a moment, though inside she was seething. Of course, Dumbledore wouldn’t want to bring him in when he had such a loyal werewolf undercover. He didn’t care that Remus was too much of an alpha to properly integrate with the established packs. He didn’t care about the unavoidable fights and attacks Remus suffered, all for shreds of heresay. But she did. Well then, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

“May I have my wand back?” She politely requested as she spun to face Sirius, “Just for one spell. I promise.”

He narrowed his eyes at her for a long moment before reaching into his back pocket. “It's against protocol but, then again, I saw you nearly kill yourself defending my little godson.”

He sighed as he came to a decision and held her wand out to her, handle first. “I’m trusting you here. Don't make me a fool, witch.”

She nodded solemnly and the instant her wand was back in her hand, she conjured her Patronus. Her body jolted when she saw it but she carried on and dictated a message for it to take.

“Moony, come home. Padfoot and Prongs need you. The Prongslet is safe for now but the Phoenix must rise as one.”

The room full of Order members was silent as the bright wisp streaked out of the room. A few looked perplexed while several of the older members seemed affronted that she would go against Dumbledore’s wishes.

“Girl, that’s not your place -” began one ornery voice that she promptly ignored.

“How could you know,” James muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Only Sirius calls Harry that…”

“He’ll be here.” Hermione announced firmly then shoved her wand back at a gaping Sirius.

She primly settled in her corner chair and stared at the floor tiles with her lips set in a grim line. She crossed her arms tightly, attempting to hold back the anguish that sparked at seeing a shimmering puff of smoke where her otter should have been.

“Your Patronus isn't strong enough to form it's corporeal shape?” Sirius asked gently as he watched her quietly strain to hold herself together.

“Not anymore.” She whispered.

Abruptly, the sterile white door was thrown open by a rough-looking man. It slammed sharply into the wall and rebounded, nearly bowling over the brightly dressed, reedy wizard who followed closely behind.

“You think you can summon me with a Howler and get away with it, boy?” Alastor Moody bellowed as he loped into the room. His brawny figure was significantly more intact than she had ever seen but his manner was just as caustic. “You call us here, Black, when we have word there has been some sort of attack in Godric’s Hollow!”

He continued grumbling loudly to himself, “Bloody menaces can’t even respect our holy days. ‘Preservers of Our Wizarding Culture,’ my poxy arse!”

He quickly rounded on James. “And you, Potter, what’s this I hear of you taking your family out of a perfectly good secret location and then traipsing around in the dead of night! The protection charm only works if you remain where you’re told to be! Otherwise, it’s useless!” Moody harangued them both, waving his arms, before noticing her seated between them.

He shoved Sirius lightly in the shoulder to move him out of the way and reached out to do the same to James. His swing went wide as James side-stepped to avoid it. Moody towered over her chair with a predatory stare. He was well known for being merciless and now his first look at her was while she was wandless and evidently apprehended in an Order interrogation room. She met his gaze unwaveringly and did her best to remain calm.

“Who’s this you've got for us?” Moody’s smile was all sharp teeth and vicious eyes. “I’ll get more information out of her than you two could. A good round of the Cruciatus will loosen her tongue.”

Sirius and James both discreetly palmed their wands and inched closer to her protectively. Hermione felt a little comforted that they didn’t seem to approve of Moody’s suggestion. Maybe she had been wrong and they truly were there as her defenders.

“Now, Alastor,” Dumbledore’s deceptively caring voice rang out. The reedy wizard had followed Moody’s dramatic entrance and smiled benignly as he slid away from the door where he had been watching. “I think this woman may be willing to answer our questions without the use of violence.” The twinkle in the Headmaster’s eye was conspicuously absent as he turned to address her.

“Young woman, would you care to explain?”

Moody and Dumbledore were formidable even when you were their ally. Though they were vital members of the Order of the Phoenix, both were intrinsically Gryffindors who could easily jump to the wrong conclusion if provoked. They had the ability to be wise but tended to fall back on what was most expeditious regardless of morality. She deduced that cooperation would be key but lingering exhaustion and anger kept her on edge.

“My name is Hermione Granger.” Her eyes were wide and alert but she kept her face composed and her voice steady. She tried not to shrink away from the pair of older wizards as they crowded her. “I came to help. I have foreknowledge of certain people and key events that -”

“So she’s a snitch. Turning on your Death Eater friends, are you, girl?” Moody taunted.

“No, I -”

“Moody, you mentioned word of an attack at Godric’s Hollow last night?” Sirius abruptly interrupted from her side, changing the subject and earning a challenging glare from Moody.

“Aye,” He answered begrudgingly after a tense moment, “Ted Tonks alerted us to possible Death Eater activity in the village. He was first on the scene after reports of a hellish duel came in. Bright lights, explosions, someone screaming like a banshee, but no Dark Mark in the sky. There’s just one perfect circle imprinted in the grass. Completely obliterated within but not a leaf singed without. Sounds like dark magic to me. Says he found some rocks there or something.” Moody shrugged noncommittally at the last.

“That circle is where this woman stood to defend my family” James announced. “And where she ultimately struck down the Dark Lord.”

Gasps and several shouts of relief peppered the room before Dumbledore pushed himself into her space. With his bearded face uncomfortably close to hers he asked, “How?”

“The culmination of years of research, an adapted ancient ritual regarding Multiverse Travel and Displacement Theory, and an Adamantine Circle.” Hermione baldly confessed with a strong voice and a hard, unrepentant stare.

“There are dire consequences when meddling with time.” Dumbledore squinted at her, seeming to take in her appearance. “The only known recorded ritual that could potentially bring you here as you are with any memory intact is very dark magic indeed.”

“Wait, are they talking about time-travel?” Sirius asked in an awed whisper. “Prongs, is she honestly saying she’s from the future?”

“You consider the dark arts an acceptable avenue in order to get what you want, young woman?” Dumbledore tested her, his eyes searching her face intently while something forbidding simmered under their surface.

“Survival has taught me that grey is an acceptable middle ground between the dangerous naivety of dark and light.” Hermione lifted her chin and kept her expression just shy of the glare she wanted to deliver but couldn’t resist a sardonic finish. “Sir.”

Shocked silence reigned throughout the crowded cell. If it was due to her announcement or her seemingly inappropriate sarcasm, she was unsure. Even James and Sirius looked at her oddly. Though she saw their growing curiosity when they both turned to consider the Headmaster’s reaction as he straightened and took a step back.

In this time, Dumbledore was seen as a hero, a savior who selflessly fought against Grindelwald and won. However, she couldn’t forget how he willfully ignored the abuses Harry suffered and manipulated all of them over the years. His ‘greater good’ rhetoric would never excuse rampant child endangerment.

“Why have you come?” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled, full of power and warning.

“It took us nearly seventeen years from now to end this war.” Hermione shook her head in morose exhaustion and tried to explain. “There was too much loss of life. The balance of power in our society was gone. Just because we won, it didn’t mean anything when the remaining Death Eaters were cut loose and at large. There weren’t enough surviving Order members to keep anyone safe.”

“But the Aurors - the Ministry!” Elphias Doge piped up from the back, his face was white with horror.

“Infiltrated and proven useless long before the real fighting even started.” She bit out, still resentful of the derogatory lies and misinformation that sprouted from there to poison the minds of the populace.

An elegant woman with long, vaguely familiar dark hair raised her hand several seats away. She wiggled her fingers and gave a quirky little wave when she saw she had her attention. “Pardon me. I’m Emmeline, though hopefully you already knew that unless I died a grisly early death.”

Her words were macabre but her pale face displayed thoughtful curiosity when she inquired, “If you are to be believed, you killed You-Know-Who quickly and without any help last night. Why did it take us so long to defeat him in your time?”

“I didn’t kill Voldemort last night.” Almost the entire group cringed and hissed in reaction to the name. “I only destroyed his body.”

“Merlin, witch, you aren’t making any sense!” Yelled an irate older wizard wearing a polka dot suit.

“Voldemort has Horcruxes.” Hermione declared grimly. As she expected, there was no light of understanding in anyone’s eyes but Dumbledore’s. His ruddy cheeks turned ashen as he shut his eyes tightly behind his spectacles and held his wand in a vice-like grip.

“You’re saying he has more than one.” The Headmaster whispered. His sickened tone alerted the rest of the room that, whatever that meant, it was unimaginably horrible.

“In my time, he had seven.” She looked around at the assembled members, seeing their confusion and fear. “Luckily, so far in this time, he should only have five.”

“What about the prophecy?” James asked. His voice was calm but tension radiated from his stiff shoulders as if preparing for a blow.

“The prophecy only applies to its own universe. Technically, I’m not from this one. Therefore I’m basically a free agent.”

“You weren’t originally tethered to our universe,” mused Dumbledore, “so by coming here as you did, only you had the ability to thwart the prophecy that bound the rest of us.”

“I believe if we destroy the horcruxes before anyone can inadvertently help him regain physical form, the prophecy will then be entirely avoided. If it hasn’t been already.” Just the thought of it made her want to sigh in relief. Maybe this time Harry could get his wish and be an average kid with loving parents.

“The moment I came to change was not only regarding Voldemort’s destruction last night.” Hermione attempted to clarify. “That would have happened, to a degree, without my involvement. I came to try to stop the sixth Horcrux from being created. The repercussions would be unbearable. This way, we have the best chance of speeding up the time frame for his ultimate destruction and minimizing impending casualties.”

“Speed up the time frame how?”

“In my time, it took you years before you were sure Voldemort created Horcruxes. Then, it was still years after that before you sent my two friends and I to hunt them.” She avoided the urge to glance at James or Arthur and sat up straighter in her chair.

“I know how to destroy Horcruxes and I know where most of his are hidden. There is only one that’s location I am unaware of but that is where you come in, sir.” She looked to Dumbledore again. “In my time, you retrieved one Horcrux on your own and never left information on where you found it.”

Dumbledore was beginning to appear more intrigued as he twisted the end of his ginger beard. Hermione felt concerned he might try to retrieve the ring on his own again only to end up mortally cursed just as before.

“Horcruxes fight back, sir, and that one in particular is cursed as well. I will caution you that by going after it alone in my time, you left yourself open to its attack.” She waited for his blue eyes to meet hers. “Ultimately, it killed you, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore held still, deep in thought, and Hermione could only hope he would listen to her.

She continued firmly for the rest of the group. “This time around, I require those of you hunting Horcruxes with me to do so in groups. At the very least, in pairs.”

“‘Require’, hm?” Moody groused and shot a look to Dumbledore which he ignored.

“‘Demand’ is a word that would also work, if you prefer.” She gave a tight smile that didn’t reach her steely brown eyes.

“Now,” Hermione continued in an authoritative tone, “Our most immediate concern is protecting the Longbottom family in the coming days.”

“They’re in hiding.” Moody grumbled, narrowing his eyes on James with lingering displeasure.

“Yes, however the moment Frank and Alice step foot outside, several of Voldemort’s most trusted Death Eaters will ambush them. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange along with Bartemius Crouch Jr.”

“Barty’s son?” Arthur asked incredulously. “Poor fellow.”

“His father is the Head of the DMLE!” Sirius loudly added in surprise. “Moody, that Death Muncher’s father is your boss.”

“This is an opportunity.” Hermione stressed. “Organize a team to shadow the Longbottoms while they pretend to leave. Then when they’re attacked, we can be there to stop them from being taken to the second location. We can capture four pivotal enemies in one afternoon.”

“You have an awful lot of demands, missy, and so far I see no proof.” Moody interjected quietly. “Why should we believe any of this?”

Hermione bit her lip for a moment, contemplating her options.

“I think I have a way to show you my memories of the version of history we are to avoid.”

“You want to use a Pensieve?” Moody sneered. “Dumbledore and I will look first. I want to make sure this isn’t a trick or a waste of time.”

“No,” She corrected, “I believe I have formulated a way to show all of you at once. A Pensieve Room, if you will.”

“Have you truly devised all of these new magical theories yourself?” Dumbledore’s dispassionate tone belied his skepticism.

“When I was thirteen I was so ahead of my classmates that you yourself convinced the Ministry to grant me the use of a personal Time-Turner,” Hermione smirked, “simply to attend more classes.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose comically but he finally looked at her with a more amenable expression.

“Once you have been able to ascertain my truthfulness, I would like you to consider a partnership between you and I.” Hermione proposed with undisguised candor. “You are a very powerful and wise wizard, Headmaster, however everyone has their failings. I would like to be there to help steer you away from your’s.”

“You presume to know my shortcomings, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore spoke so gently it was almost a whisper but there was no doubt of his growing offense.

It was a low blow but she would rather avoid airing all of the abuses she knew him capable of in front of their allies. She simply said in a clear voice, “Ariana.”

A choked gasp from the corner of the cell drew their eyes to Aberforth Dumbledore. He quickly collected himself, wiping the grief from his face to glare at his brother.

“Listen to her Albus. Maybe she will save you from yourself.”

Dumbledore remained silent and stared at the wall as his oppressive magical aura seemed to dim, leaving the crowded room to feel colder and more empty than before. Guilt assailed her but if this blunt approach is what it took to redirect his path away from seeing others as little more than chess pieces, it would be worth it.

The cell door opened wide, garnering the room’s attention, and a tall brown haired man entered briskly rubbing his palms together.

“Hello, everybody!” Frank Longbottom crowed happily. “Heard there was a meeting and I couldn’t sit still any longer. What are we up to?”

“Sirius, he can’t be out unprotected!” Hermione cried, jumping up from her chair to grab his sleeve.

“But I thought you just said you want to use him to -”

“Yes, but he just wandered in here without -” She cut herself off and sighed in frustration. “Fine. Now’s the time then.” She turned back to face Moody.

“Would you mind leading a team to shadow Frank before he goes back to his family? You’re most qualified. It may take a day or two to draw them out but it will be safer for all of us once those four are locked in Azkaban where they belong.”

“Who the hell made you the boss?” Frank barked incredulously. “Alastor, what in Merlin’s name is going on here?”

Moody sent a questioning glance toward Dumbledore and was rewarded with an imperious nod. He heaved a sigh that sounded more like a growl but began to follow her directions.

“I’ll fill you in on the way, Longbottom. Hop to it Black. Vance, Caradoc, you’re with us as well.” He swiveled back around, pushing Frank ahead of him. Sirius quickly followed behind Emmeline and the surly polka dot wizard.

“Moody.” Hermione called out to the Auror as he stepped out the door. He stopped to scowl over his shoulder at her. “Constant vigilance.”

He squinted at her, assessing, and tilted his head to the side to reply almost pleasantly. “Wise words, those.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts and anything constructive you might like to add. Feel free to share any suggestions, I may find a way to work them in later.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions, comments, or constructive advice, please share it with me. I would love to hear from you.


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